


words I never got to say the first time around

by acastle



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Light Angst, M/M, Minor Niall Horan/Celine Vandycke, This Town
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-03
Updated: 2016-10-03
Packaged: 2018-08-19 07:39:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8196295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acastle/pseuds/acastle
Summary: The melody drifts around in his head as he follows him to sleep.
 
  (Or, how some things write themselves, really.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> haven't written in ages. forgive the effort.

He gets the melody first.

The flow of the notes just seeps into his mind, just as dawn is breaking and the first signs of light are shining gently from the spaces between the curtains, as Harry sleeps on his side, back faced towards him and hair sprawled out on the pillow, sheets rumpled over their legs.

He’s drawing aimless shapes over his shoulders with his fingers, tracing over the ship and the tiny simple guitar inked on Harry’s skin, and the tune just. Falls into his head, organically and as if it had always been there, and it makes his breath catch in his throat, his hand almost spasming on Harry’s arm.

“Ni?” Harry mumbles sleepily, never having been a deep sleeper, and he turns his head slightly, looking back at him. “What is it?”

“I-it’s nothing,” he says in reply, moving then to spoon Harry properly, their bodies flush together and he tries not to let his emotions show. “Just had a thought. It’s early, go back to sleep.”

“Hmm,” Harry hums, not contesting, and he flops his head back on the pillow and Niall listens as his breathing evens out again, slow, deep breaths as he falls back to sleep. Tightens his hand on his hip, the last tiny bit of fat on his love handles still not burned off from Harry’s regular routine giving in around his fingers, and he doesn’t know what else to do but kiss his shoulder, the back of his neck.

The melody drifts around in his head as he follows him to sleep.

.

The thing with Harry was never intended to be really serious.

It just started when they were still in Asia, in the hotel of a too hot tropical country after the first show in an arena that really was just a parking lot, but the crowd had been amazing despite the fact they were one man short. He remembers hoping that they would react the same way, once they find out that the situation isn’t temporary.

It was a strange feeling, happy and worried and sad and Harry had found him by the hotel pool nursing a pint, and sat down with him.

He doesn’t remember how they found themselves kissing, then stumbling into his room and shaking fingers frantic with the need to get naked and then Harry getting his hand over both their erections and getting off together. 

After they’d both come, he’d thought that things were fucked, that there was no way that this would be good for them all, that they’d just lost a member, the new dynamics were going to be hard enough as it is, what would all of this bring.

He hadn’t gotten any opportunity to voice it, when Harry had handed him a bottle of lube and a condom and told him to open him up. He’d fucked Harry hard that night, into the too soft hotel mattress, and Harry had moaned and tightened around him and been so good, responding so, so well, had been so good. Harry hadn’t left after he’d come on the sheets on the first few pulls of his cock, and he's even encouraged, urged, Niall to go on pounding into him. He'd curled up around Niall after he’d cleaned him up and slept easily, like nothing earth-shattering had just happened.

It became something of a regular occurrence. In almost every country, they find themselves falling into each other. They still see other people, or rather, find new or old friends for a night or two, but when pulling seems to much of an inconvenience, they find each other, and it’s easy to kiss Harry and fuck him or be fucked and it’s always good. Eventually, the need to pull diminishes, more and more, with every tour stop and every night they spend together. 

It’s easy, because Harry makes it easy, and Niall’s quite sure he’s never had it so good, and he hopes Harry thinks similarly. 

Maybe it should be complicated and messy and it was stupid of them for doing it in the first place. If not now, then definitely later, they’ll see why it was such an impulsive, reckless, careless decision on either of their parts. But Niall can’t find any reason to, not when he’s spending so much time with Harry, whether they’re sleeping together, or talking, or cuddling after, or laughing and.

He knows it’s hard, he knows it. But it’s become increasingly difficult to not be with Harry, not when he feels the way he does around him. He can’t quite describe it, can’t identify the emotion, but it doesn’t quite matter, not when Harry will smile at him wickedly and mention lightly how much he’s looking forward to the salmon poke he’s planning to have for dinner, and will just wind on about how good it is with mango and avocado and kani salad, and Niall will realize later on they’d have been talking about raw fish and the merits of wasabi for over three hours. 

It’s hard. It should be, but. It’s also incredibly easy.

.

The melody doesn’t go away, not for weeks and weeks. Niall doesn’t quite understand, because the tune is simple. He doesn’t think it’s anything very new, very unique, and yet.

“That one of Ed’s?” Harry asks him, leaning on him as they’re sat on the bus lounge as the bus drives on, on through fields of green then barren sand. 

Niall glances at him, confused, and realizes that he’d been humming the melody unconsciously. “Oh, um. No, it’s just. It’s just something.”

Harry considers him quietly, then nods, turning his attention back to his phone. Niall thinks, and asks before he loses his nerve, “Why? Does it sound like something Ed would do?”

“Well, kind of, but not completely,” he replies, shrugging slightly. “Ed tends to go for more pop? I don’t know. But it sounds good. Is that for you?”

“Oh, it’s really nothing,” he says, and he hopes his ears don’t turn red when he gives Harry a small smile. Harry returns it easily, slides his hand on his thigh, and keeps it there as he goes back to texting whoever, back to their comfortable silence. Niall doesn’t fight the strength of the satisfying ache in his chest.

.

The four of them mutually decide on an indefinite break. 

It’s needed, really, but Niall can’t quite shake the feeling that it feels like an ending, of sorts. Not just for this period of their lives and of the band’s, but. For him and Harry, he knows they can’t just leave this the way they came in.

“Hey,” Harry frowns, rubbing his thumb between Niall’s eyebrows, trying to get his attention. Niall blinks, and it’s late, he realizes, a few hours after midnight and Louis and Liam had opted to go out for the night, and it’s been quiet in the cabana since they’d gone. 

It’s dark, but Harry’s eyes are bright, staring at him consideringly, and he knows it’s better to meet the gaze rather than shake it off. He clears his throat quietly, and shuffles closer to him on the bed, presses his lips on Harry’s eyelid to try to appease him. 

“Well, since we only have a few more weeks before the break,” Harry begins quietly, his voice as deep and slow as Niall’s ever heard it, easily reading the lines of worry on Niall’s face and the tightness of his shoulders, “Do you think, maybe. We should stop? While it’s easier.”

Niall doesn’t speak, and then. 

_ Oh. _

He suddenly understands why his chest feels like it’s being pinched, his heart too full and his hands go cold, blinks his eyes as they sting with moisture. He understands then, and he immediately wishes he didn’t.

“I love you, you know,” Harry tells him, simply, easily, and Niall knows he doesn’t mean it in the way he tells Liam or Louis or anyone else. He knows, this is just for him. “But. I don’t this is fair anymore, to you, or to me. It’s better if-”

“Okay,” he says, cuts him off. Doesn’t want to hear his reasons, doesn’t want to hear his train of thought of why this won’t work. It’s obvious enough, and Niall doesn’t need it to be explained to him. “I understand.”

“Okay,” he says softly. He doesn’t try to pull Niall close again when he draws away from him, back to his side of the bed, and Niall desperately tries not to see the way his face falls, the sad shine in his eyes, and wills himself to a difficult sleep.

The same melody drifts across his mind as he lays next to Harry, and he ignores it helplessly.

The next morning, he wakes up alone and naked, covers carefully laid over him making his breath catch in his throat and his chest tight with everything he didn’t say. He still smells him on the sheets, lingering in the air and permeating everything and the first line of the song that won’t leave him alone makes itself clear to him.

.

He attributes it to the solid foundation of their friendship that they return to relative normalcy following that night. It’s not the same, it could never be, but regardless, Harry still fools around onstage with him and makes him laugh and doesn’t stop talking about the positive effects of yoga and ‘juice diets’ and they try to be something similar to  _ them.  _ If it’s in any way strained, no one says anything, and he supposes this is when it becomes hard. After everything that’s happened between them, he aches for what they were, aches more for something else, and they’ve changed, as much as he had tried to not let that happen. 

Not long after the last day, both Liam and Louis message him, tell him to not look at the news, because they’d always suspected, even if Harry and Niall had never outrightly told them, but they weren’t subtle. They tell him that it’s nothing, tell him it’s just for attention, but the warning’s had been useless. It was everywhere, and ignoring it wouldn’t help him, the thought of it possibly being for publicity didn’t make him feel any better.

_ I saw that you moved on with someone new,  _ his mind provides him in the midst of a meeting with his management, and it chokes him. They look at him, concerned as he excuses himself and blinks away his tears and he’s been trying  _ so  _ hard. He doesn’t think it’s fair. He wants to be over it and it always, always, comes back to  _ him. _

So he goes to Asia. Bali, then Boracay, then Thailand, trying to forget and move on and he can’t. He can’t, like his heart, his mind, won’t let him, and the song never leaves him. Every horizon, every sunset, every beach and every morning and every night and as much as he tries to ignore it, it sits there, playing itself in his head every time he tries to fall asleep.

.

So Harry is doing a movie, and Niall finds out through a bloke in the tube.

Louis tells him to not take it so personally, that he hadn’t told him, when they had been training for charity match. He knows that Louis knows, and if Louis knows, Liam isn’t far behind. 

Sure enough, Liam shoots him a message a week or so after the game, tells him to write a song.  _ ‘Might make you feel better, mate.’ _

He replies,  _ ‘Yeah, maybe it will.’  _

But he writes no song, because he knows what will come out, and it will feel too honest, reveal too much, and. He feels like this would truly be over, if he’d finally put it down and let everyone know about it, and he doesn’t think he’s ready for that.

So he writes nothing, but the song settles in his heart, forming itself anyway.

.

He meets her through a friend. She’d told him she was on break, studying law, and she was gorgeous, intelligent, and Willie and the others had immediately teased them together and egged them on.

She was nice, and she seemed to know coming in that he wasn’t looking for something long-term, and she said to him,  _ “I get it. Nothing serious.” _

So, for the next few months, he wasn’t completely alone. But he felt a different sort of loneliness all the same.

He’d brought her to a music festival and thought that, maybe, if he acted a bit more affectionate, maybe it would change. But as he kissed her and held her hand and locked their fingers together, nothing felt any different.

.

Bobby’s the one who tells him that people had seen them together, that the reaction had been generally positive and people seem to be genuinely ecstatic that he was no longer single, with a great person, and that’s when he realizes he can’t do this. Be selfish and try to make something work when he’s so clearly not moved on.

She understands, and even wishes him luck,  _ “I hope you get to move on, love. You deserve it.” _

She’s kinder than he deserves, and he leaves feeling worse than before.

.

Simon approaches him about making music again. He’s not the only one who talks to him about it, and Niall wants to, desperately. Misses the strings under his fingers and the never ending flow of music that thrums in his veins and singing, misses it but is terrified of what might happen, if he does.

He knows Louis is doing something with his company, and Liam is considering several labels, and Harry. Harry will never be without opportunity, so.

He tries golf first, because that’s easier to handle, easier to deal with and think about and isn’t as painful. Gets a company set up easily, and finds a talent signed up, and he enjoys it, genuinely, but. It doesn’t quite fulfill him completely, not the way he knows only music can.

.

It’s Harry, in the end, who makes him finally write and finish the song.

_ ‘Can I call you?’  _ he receives out of the blue, as he’s just getting out of the shower in his new house in LA. 

He stares at the message for a moment, before he types out,  _ ‘maybe not tonight . about to go to bed .’ _

He’s about to send it, but. His heart thumps hard in his chest, so hard it makes him close his eyes, makes him acutely aware how he’s still just in a towel and his hair is sopping and dripping on still unwaxed floors, how vulnerable he feels, and how much he still loves him.

He deletes the message, and sends instead,  _ ‘okay .’ _

His phone starts ringing almost immediately, and he answers on the third ring, after a moment to steel himself.

_ “Hi, Ni,”  _ Harry sounds tired on the other end, but still the same soft, low drawl, maybe slightly deeper, and Niall’s missed him.  _ “Sorry for not calling sooner.” _

He doesn’t say anything, because he’s got nothing to say. Harry isn’t obliged to talk to him, and he hasn’t exactly made the effort to keep in touch either, so. 

_ “You’re in LA, I heard?”  _ Harry asks him, tries to keep moving forward despite Niall’s silence.

“Yeah, I am,” he answers, and Harry hums on the other side. He leans on the wall, his chest hurting and his eyes stinging, but he persists and asks, “Are you here as well?”

_ “Oh, um. No, I’m still filming,”  _ he tells him quietly, and Niall nods to himself.

“So,” he tries, thinking of what to say, “How are you?”

Harry goes quiet on the other side, and Niall waits patiently. Waits, his hands going cold and his heart just aching all the more.

_ “I,”  _ Harry begins, and Niall blinks, hearing the soft break in his voice.  _ “I've been okay.” _

“Harry,” he says, and he hears an audible intake of breath on the other end of the phone.

_ “I, um,”  _ he tries, and.  _ “I know it’s not fair for me to say this, but. I miss you. I really, really miss you. I miss you.” _

Niall stays quiet, and Harry’s not wrong. This isn’t fair, it’s not, not when Harry’s the one who broke it off and went on a yacht and didn’t keep in touch, and he’s the one who’s been trying so hard to move on and keep himself busy and convince himself that not every shadow he sees is Harry’s, but.

Some things won’t change. 

“I miss you too,” he says quietly, and a few tears slip out of the corners of his eyes and leave tracks on his still drying face. 

_ “I’m sorry,”  _ Harry tells him, voice broken and low and Niall listens, chest aching further at the sound of him crying as softly as he can.  _ “Just. I know I was shit to do that to you. And for doing this now. But I’ve missed you. I really miss you, I can’t not tell you anymore. I miss you.” _

He swallows down his sobs, and leans his head back until it hits the wall, and he hates this. Hates that he’s so far away, that Harry is doing this, that he can’t deny his feelings.

_ “Niall?”  _ Harry says on the other side, and Niall grits his teeth.

“You’re so unfair,” he says, hating the way his voice breaks. “You’re so unfair.”

_ “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,”  _ Harry says, his voice so small and Niall hates how much this is hurting him, them both.  _ “I never meant - I never meant for this to happen, never this way. I was supposed to love you, proper. I love you-” _

“Stop it,” Niall says, his voice quiet and murmured, but Harry hears it, and gives him that much. Goes silent, and Niall doesn’t know if it’s a good thing that he’d listened or not, now the only things heard are the slight buzz of the lights above him and the blood pounding in his ears. “Stop it. Please.”

_ “I’m sorry,”  _ Harry says again, and Niall hates how that’s all he can come up with.  _ “I know you’re cross, with everything that’s happened I don’t blame you. But I needed to tell you the truth. I’ll always miss you. I’ll always want you.” _

“You’ve got a real shit way of showing it, then,” he says, but he’s got no energy to put any heat into it, no energy to shout and yell or cry more and. He’s tired, and he wants to move on, but it’s starting to feel like no one will let him. 

_ “Niall,”  _ Harry says, and Niall can’t hear it.

“You’re so unfair,” he says, and he cries to himself. Tries to not let the tears seep into his voice, “Please. Let me move on, please. Please.”

Harry goes quiet on the other end, and Niall feels himself tremble, shake as he cries, his body moving with it, but he won’t let Harry hear it, he can’t.

It catches him completely off guard when Harry replies brokenly,  _ “Okay. I'm sorry. Okay. Okay.” _

Neither of them speak after that, and eventually his phone just dies after they stay on too long on the call.

He shudders out breath after breath, hair dry and frizzing in the warmth of Los Angeles, and he stands slowly. Gets himself dressed, and plugs in his phone. He reaches for his guitar, the first time in many months, he thinks, and, finally.

He plays the melody that's been lingering relentlessly in his mind, the confines of his heart, and just. Sings, the words he's sure of that had written themselves hear many months, as well as the ones he makes up on the fly to fill the rest of the song in, easily coming to him as he strums and plucks at the strings of his guitar, and it's difficult, but also. So, so easy, to finally let it out and it's always been there, waiting to be sung.

His heart hurts and fingers shaking and eyes blurred with tears as he reaches the end of it, had taken hardly any time at all, and. It feels like freedom, sadness, but. Free, all the same.

.

He plays it for Jamie and some of the other lads one day once he’d mustered up the courage to finally share it, many weeks after he’d finished it, and by the end of it.

“I think you should release it,” Dan tells him, and it’s not the reaction he’d been expecting, not at all.

“It’s, it’s really raw,” Niall says, nervous and suddenly shy, unsure. 

“It’s gorgeous,” Jamie tells him, and. Niall breathes deep, his hands tightening on the neck of his guitar. “It’s, no lie, Niall. It’s beautiful. Just like that, you don’t need anything else.”

“I don’t know,” Niall breathes.

“The sort of music you should be making,” Mike says, and Niall closes his eyes. Hopes his sniffing isn’t all that audible. “You should release it.”

“I don’t know,” he repeats, more to himself than anyone else.

.

He records a rough demo, and shops it around on their insistence, even though he’d really rather not share it. Doesn’t want too many people hearing, thinking about it and deciphering it and maybe, maybe, telling him what to do with it, what to do to make it sound different.

Capitol gets wind of it, and Niall almost doesn’t go to the meeting. Doesn’t want to hear what they think they can do with the song and make it more commercial and direct him, but. They don’t tell him any of that, nothing like that.

They think he, his guitar, and a microphone are all they need for it. Just him and his guitar, is what they said, and. It’s what he’s always wanted, what he’s always said he’d do, and. Someone actually agrees with him.

They give him an amazing contract, complete artistic freedom, proper promotion, and he feels himself settling into his skin, the way he's wanted to since this break had started. 

.

‘I'm going to sign with Capitol,’ he sends off in their group chat, fingers trembling and mistyping and it takes him several tries until he gets it right.

Liam responds right way, enthusiastic and quick,  _ ‘!!!!!!! MATE LABEL MATES!!! so excited for you boss can't wait!!! wait we can work together boss we should collaborate!!!’  _ along with several emojis, all the animals and positive smileys and a unicorn for good measure.

Louis replies not long after, shorter. It no less happy,  _ ‘NIALLER, amazing news! Congrats mate! Can't wait to see you!’ _

He doesn't expect Harry to respond, not right away, at least. So it fully surprises him when he receives a text, just to him, telling him,  _ ‘I'm so happy for you Niall. I can't wait to hear your music, the way you always wanted to make it. I'm so happy for you, always. H.’ _

It’s a simple message, but so loaded all the same and it’s just so  _ Harry,  _ it makes Niall’s breath catch in his throat and he has to take a moment to take it in. His fingers tighten around his phone and his vision blurs, and he’s always getting so emotional because of him. 

He responds to him last, after getting through the easy motions of sending out several emojis to match Liam’s and yelling at Louis in all caps about his birthday bash, and it takes him such a long time to come up with what to say.

He decides to be truthful, and tells Harry the honest thing. 

‘I’m scared . I’m not so sure I can do this .’

And Harry responds almost right away, and Niall keeps his reply, tapping on it to react with a heart, hoping Harry will understand that he doesn’t have the words, but he’s grateful all the same.

_ ‘Of course you can. You’re Niall. And that will always be absolutely more than enough.’ _

.

They set up a 1 Mic 1 Take video soon after he signs, after he records an actual studio version of the song to appear on his album, an actual album, and he rehearses so much but can never really get it, always messes it up one way or another and he can't get through one run without making a mistake. it's nerve wracking and terrifying and he resolutely does not think about Harry, how he would react and what he would do once he hears it. 

His hands are shaking the day of recording, and it's endlessly frustrating and he breathes and breathes.

He messes up the first take. Then the second. Almost makes it to the end of the third but his voice breaks and he wants to call it off, doesn’t know how he’s going to do this and he’s embarrassed.

They tell him to not think so much, and to  _ “Let go of what’s making you so nervous. Let it inspire you, let it move you.” _

It’s terrifying, and he almost says no, but he gets a grip on himself and nods, agrees, and tries one more.

He thinks about him. Remembers the moment the melody had come to him in the early hours of morning with Harry sleeping next to him, how it had just drifted into his head like an old memory. Thinks about quiet moments in the bus and that painful morning and every sunset he’d seen in Asia, the call that had given him the courage to finally make the notes tangible, heard and present. 

Thinks about him and it’s painful, and so, so easy.

He tries not to let it show up too much on his face, just allows the flow of words move him and his hands to where they need to go, guide his voice and his heart to feel what he’s been trying to avoid for so long, and it hurts and he can barely keep himself from crying by the end of it.

It’s perfect, feels like it does the emotion of the song more justice than the studio version, and everyone seems well pleased with it, with him, and congratulations and well wishes are offered all around, overwhelming him and it’s a lot, so much.

As he’s driving home after a single celebratory pint with his mates, the line keeps repeating itself over and over in his head,  _ ‘Everything comes back to you.’ _

He knows now, it will always be true in one way or another.

.

They want to release it a few weeks after his birthday, just before the end of October. It’s barely done with production, with post-editing and approval and he’s nervous, all over again, moreso now.

He knows he’s not unpopular. But he also knows he’s not quite that big, to just drop a song with no prior admission, that this had been going on for a few months now and him, out of all of them. People would expect maybe Liam, definitely Harry, but him. 

He sends the other three another message in the group chat. ‘Going to release a song next week . Hope it’s okay . Feeling pretty nervous about it .’

Liam says,  _ ‘don’t be boss. we’ll always be here for you i’m sure its going to be sick. so proud of you always niall!!! I’M SURE IT’S GOING TO BE AMAZING!!!’  _ then several positive hand gesture emojis and all the heart varieties and then the Irish flag.

Louis tells him,  _ ‘I’m sure it’s not shit. We’ll support you through anything Neil! Feeling so so so so proud. Can’t wait to hear it!’  _ He forwards a new picture of Freddie, laying on Louis’ chest, Niall is sure it’s Louis, eyes wide and mouth in an almost grin, and Niall saves it to his phone immediately.

Harry doesn’t respond right away. NIall’s heart sinks, further and further to the pit of his stomach throughout the day when he gets no reply from him. The next morning, though, he wakes up to a voice message left on his phone.

_ “I’m not, um. I’m not brave enough to call you while you’re still awake. I’m sorry. But, I wanted to tell you that I’ll always be so proud of you, no matter what you do. I’ll always be proud that, that you’re my friend, that I love you, and maybe, maybe back then, you had loved me too, even if just for a moment. I can’t wait to hear you, to listen to what you’ve always wanted to tell the world. I’m sure it will be beautiful.” _

.

Harry comes out with a magazine shoot, and it’s so pretentious and the attempt at artsiness is so laughable and so many of the pictures are ridiculously deprived and Niall, he doesn’t exactly love it, but it’s so quintessentially Harry, he can’t have the heart to hate it wholeheartedly.

He saves that one photo, on the field and sweater paws and the dimple, knows that’s how he’ll always see Harry. It’s a gorgeous shot, and he wishes, for a moment, that he were brave enough to make it his lockscreen.

.

They rush the single release, drop it on everyone out of nowhere, and Niall is preparing himself for a busy morning ahead. It hits him, full force, that he’s going to have to talk about the song and what’s it about, and he has a small breakdown and panic attack over it.

“Ah, ah shit,” he breathes, inhaling and exhaling and trying to calm his heart, hand against his chest as he gathers his wits.

He lets himself have the one cry over it now, get it all out and it's not liberating enough, wishes he could tell the truth but also, wishes that he didn't have to talk about this at all. Keep this song for himself and it's just so personal, reveals too much hand not enough and he doesn't have the time to second guess it, because Ryan Seacrest is introducing him and the song and he has to be professional, has to do this.

.

The reaction overwhelms him. 

So many people saying such beautiful things and he's so grateful, so happy and relieved and still scared, because he doesn't know what they know, how they interpret the song and what they really think of it. 

Liam’s the first to say something publicly, because of course. Calls him ‘boss’ a lot and it's comforting and he responds, feeling so grateful and with a promise to call him after the whirlwind of promotional interviews. A strange experience, to be doing so many, to be doing them on his own. 

Louis then, and Niall allows his pride in him spread enthusiasm across his chest to the rest of his body, and he responds still, hopes to see him soon.

Harry's the last, and it's the shortest. Niall doesn't think he's seen Harry type quite like that before, still formal, but he sees the difference. The slight shift in the tone of his words, no one but him will ever notice it, and being called a friend hurts more than Niall would ever think it should.

He respond hours later, thinking of what to say. His thumbs hover over the keyboard, the blank tweet open before him. 

‘thank you Harry buddie . .’ he begins, knows it lacks everything that matters. Is so tempted to hit send, just as it is, but it doesn't feel like it's enough. He breathes deep, and the emotion spreads to the tips of his fingers as he types out at the end, ‘Love ya.’

He means it, much more than Harry will ever know, than anyone will ever know, and it's still not everything. It scares him just to type it out, doesn't know if Harry will see anything behind the words, but. He might as well say it, admit it. Then maybe, he'll be allowed to truly move on.

He sends it out to his 27 million followers, sends it out to his best friend, and hopes he appreciates what he says, even if he doesn't truly understands what he's trying to tell him. 

.

People have been complimenting him and congratulating him on the single and everyone is so pleased with him and it, and he has to take a day off to take it all in.

He sits at home, going through his feed and seeing the general consensus of positivity and an incredible amount of people  _ thanking  _ him, when it should be the other way around, really. Trending worldwide and going straight to the top of the iTunes Chart and he knows it’s not anything new. It’s a simple song, hardly challenging to play or sing or. He knows it’s not like anything out there in the market right now, knows it won’t be the type of song that will be played everywhere, but nonetheless. It’s special, he knows it’s special, and it warms him to know that many, many other people seem to think the same way.

There have been speculations, of course. But it surprises him that generally, people are excited about the song because he’d been the one to write it, that he’d finally been able to showcase his skills as a guitarist and a singer, that it was a good song, a beautiful song, regardless of whom it’s about.

It’s. It’s been some time, since people had been interested because of the work, and not whatever inspired the work. It overwhelms him greatly, and he is so thankful for it all. Can’t stop himself from saying it, expressing it.

He’s nursing a beer in the kitchen of his rented out place, and it’s just him tonight, the others out for the day and it’s rather cold in Minnesota, but he’s not complaining. Has to be up early tomorrow for the tournament, and he’s just about to go to bed when the doorbell goes off. 

He blinks, knowing the others have got their own keys and shouldn’t be back until tomorrow morning, unless. He groans internally at the thought of having to look after three drunk Irish blokes for the night when he should be resting, and he goes to let them in, only to freeze when he sees who’s on the other side.

“Hello,” Harry greets him, and his hair is so short and clothes more stupid than the last time he’d seen him and a bag on his back and another in his hand. He’s missed him, so, so much.

Niall doesn’t say anything, afraid of what might come out of his mouth if he spoke, and he chooses to look at him for the moment. His hair is unwashed, and his eyes tired, his shoulders slightly broader than the last time he’d seen him. He’s more tanned, his lips dry, and Niall’s hands shake around the neck of the bottle. Harry isn’t the most important thing in the world, not by a long shot, but it doesn’t matter, not to him. He’ll always be the most important, the best, the most beautiful person to Niall anyway.

“Come in, it’s cold,” he says, keeps his voice neutral and low, and Harry blinks, then nods, entering when Niall widens the door further for him to come through. “How, um. How’d you get here? When did you get here?”

“Just a few hours ago,” he replies, and NIall watches him shuffle around, staring down at his feet then nervously back up at Niall. He fights to keep his face blank, fights not to reach out and touch him. “I took the red eye.”

“Right,” Niall nods, sets his half-finished beer down on the coffee table. His palms are moist, and he knows it’s not just from the condensation on the bottle’s surface. 

It’s awkward, and the silence is deafening and Niall doesn’t know what to do. He watches Harry and can tell that he doesn’t either, and they’ve never really been like this.

“I heard the song,” Harry says, and he winces, shaking his head at himself, muttering, “Of course, of course he knows that.”

“I saw,” Niall says, and he's trembling, but he won't show it. Hides his hands in his pockets, says, “Thank you.”

“It, it was beautiful,” Harry tells him, and he looks at Niall so gently. “I just. I wanted to tell you in person. It was so lovely and gorgeous, I'm so proud of you. I knew you'd be amazing.”

“Thank you,” he repeats, but his voice is softer, overwhelmed, in love. He closes his eyes, and he tells him again. “Thank you, that means so much. Especially from you. Thank you, Haz.”

He knows he's not being told everything, but he waits, waits for him to speak and tell him why he's really here.

It takes several moments, what he's sure is too long, and then Harry asks him, “How have you been?”

It's not what he really wants to ask, but Niall answers for him, “Taking it all in. I'm really happy.”

“That's good, I'm glad,” Harry says, and Niall’s heart aches on his behalf, as well as his own. 

“Harry,” he starts, the fear taking over his chest but. He has to know, “Why are you here?”

Harry doesn't blink, and Niall watches his face change. Nervous and scared and so many things he's never truly associated with him. 

“I needed to see you,” he says, and he always does this. Is always so unfair, but Niall doesn't speak, not yet. “I just. I wanted to ask. Is it, is the song, that is, is it. Is it about me?”

And there it is. Niall had an inkling, had maybe thought that Harry would hear it and just  _ know, _ and. To have the moment now, for him to be confronted with it, it makes the tight sensation in his chest spread further.

“Not everything is about you, Harry,” he says impulsively, and he watches him flinch and immediately regrets the words. It doesn’t make it any less true.

“I know,” Harry says, his voice tight, and his hands grip the straps of his bags. “I’m - I’m sorry, I’ll be leaving-”

“This was, though,” Niall says on a painful exhale, his eyes blurring as he admits it, finally. “This song. It’s about you.”

Harry stares at him, and Niall notes the shine in his eyes, the quiver of his mouth. Then, he’s setting his bags to the floor, and carefully approaches him. 

Niall doesn’t move, just waits and stays there as Harry moves towards him, until they’re toe to toe and their faces so close, and Harry’s looking at him so tenderly and nervously and he’s bringing up a hand to touch his jaw in a careful motion. Niall closes his eyes at the contact, and his heart rises up to his throat, and he’s missed him so much.

Harry holds his face carefully in his hands, and tilts it carefully, until he can slant his head and glide his lips over the line of his jaw, then  meets Niall’s lips with his own, and he sighs into the kiss, pulling him nearer until he feels like he can’t get much closer and still feels like he’s still too far. 

He licks into his mouth, and Niall slides his hands under Harry’s stupid shirt, grips his hips and wants to cry, a little, at how different he feels under his fingers. Not as soft, his skin maybe a little rougher, but his touch is the same, still gentle and still careful and it’s still him. He’s missed him so much.

“I love you,” Harry tells him, tells him for the third, fourth time, and it feels entirely different. Open and vulnerable and scared but at its most honest, and Niall keeps his eyes closed, knows that his tears overflow and leak from the corners of his eyes, and he nods, not trusting himself to speak. “Where’s - where’s your room?”

.

Harry’s so slow, when he removes their clothing. Niall would normally yell at him to get a move on, but he can’t find himself to want that, now. 

Every inch of his skin, Harry skims over with his mouth, and he squirms under his gaze and touch and Harry holds him and takes his time, takes him into his mouth and Niall cries into the still air as he fights not to come, wants to do so properly, and whines at the sensation of Harry’s warm mouth around his length, barely there then pulling off and planting themselves back to Niall’s lips.

The song comes back to him, plays in the back of his mind as he touches Harry, kisses him and relearns him. The same melody, the words, and it clenches around his heart, tightening its hold on him and making him feel so much. 

Harry straddles him as he sits on the bed, his back resting on the headboard, and he’s kissing him over and over as if he can’t get enough, and he looks a little different, but he feels so familiar and it’s like home.

“Help me,” Harry asks him, handing over the open bottle of lube, and Niall nods, slicking his fingers up shakily as Harry reaches behind himself, and he feels the gasp escape Harry’s mouth brush over his lips as he pushes the first finger in. He waits, waits until he’s adjusted around his finger, and Niall teases his rim with his own, swallowing Harry’s whimper by kissing him. He pushes his finger alongside Harry’s, and Harry sobs, hiding his face in Niall’s neck as he bears down on the intrusions, waits, then pushes back on them, getting them deeper into his arse.

Niall inserts another finger, and Harry whines louder, pushes back harder and thrusts back, rolling his hips, and Niall has to be in him, can’t hold it much longer.

Rolls on a condom, and slicks himself up, Harry’s moaning and whimpering right in his ear urging him on, and he gets his hands on Harry’s arse, and he leans back. Takes a long look at him, and Harry looks back, and it feels like so much.

“Love you,” he says simply, but it’s like the song, he supposes. It’s not much, nothing new, but. It overflows with everything, everything he’d never given himself the chance to admit, and he knows Harry knows that.

Harry’s eyes film over with tears, and he kisses him so sweetly, murmurs it right back against his mouth, and Niall’s guiding himself to his hole, and Harry bites his bottom lip as he sinks down on him. Down, down, until his arse is flush with his thighs, and Niall’s eyes shut at his tightness, hands squeezing his bum as he throbs inside him.

They stay there for several moments, and it’s been some time. Then, Harry’s lifting off of him, then pushing back down, and then again, again, until he’s riding him properly and moaning and whimpering as he squeezes his arse around Niall’s cock.

Niall’s no better, grunting and letting out  _ uh-uh-uh’s _ as he thrusts his hips up, fucking into Harry and meeting his arse halfway, the sound loud in the too quiet room. He feels so good, better than he remembers, and he doesn’t ever want to stop, doesn’t want it to end and he goes slower, but harder, stronger thrusts of his hips and Harry is throwing his head back and moaning into the still air, nails digging into his chest, his shoulder, as he rolls his hips languidly and take him in over and over.

“Niall,” he cries, and Niall pounds in, leaning forward and sucking on his neck, licking over the mark he makes on his skin. “Niall.”

“Harry,” he breathes, and he fucks in, and his body is so warm, feels like home.

They continue in that slow, hard pace, and it gets to be too much, and Niall gets his hand around Harry’s hard, leaking cock and pulls him off. It takes hardly any time at all, and Harry lets out a loud sob when he comes, spilling over Niall’s fist and their stomachs. He trembles in Niall’s arms after, and Niall stays still, waiting for him to calm down, lips soothing over his shoulder.

He makes to pull out after he’s stopped shivering, but Harry tightens around him, and rolls his hips.

“Harry, you’re tired,” he tries, but Harry shakes his head and kisses him, hard, as he pumps his hips and rides him, tightening his arse around his cock and Niall gasps into his mouth as he comes in his arse, shooting into the condom, and he only realizes he’s crying when Harry had kissed away the tears on his cheeks. Realizes only when he tastes the salt on Harry’s lips that he’d been crying, as well.

.

He has to be up in a few hours, but he can’t sleep. Harry can’t either, and they just lay in bed together, pulled close and watching each other quietly.

Harry eventually closes his eyes, and touches his forehead to Niall’s, then skims the tips of his fingers over where Niall’s heart should be, and the touch stings, almost. Barely a graze of his fingers against his chest, over skin stretched tight over a heart that feels too big.

“Please, forgive me,” he asks softly, and Niall listens. “I know this doesn’t fix things, not yet.”

He’s not wrong, but Niall waits for him to finish, kissing the tips of his nose to help him along.

“You don’t, I mean. It doesn’t have to be now,” Harry tells him, and Niall shuffles closer, gathering his body in his arms. “Just. Please, eventually, please forgive me. I’ll work so hard, I’ll love you so much. It will be the best thing I’ll ever do. I love you.”

Niall doesn’t say anything for a moment, just breathes with him, taking in his words. Then, he closes his own eyes, and hums the same melody, the one that he thinks will never really leave him.

He feels Harry tremble against him when he realizes, and then the lips on the corner of his mouth. 

Like coming back to him.

**Author's Note:**

> wanted desperately to write something that somehow felt like the song. don't think I quite pulled it off, but all the same.
> 
>  
> 
> [talk to me.](http://www.castlenarry.tumblr.com)


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